Paradox of abundance, Menu of aliveness, Rain Dogs

I often find myself grappling with my own ambition — whether I have enough of it, or possess the conviction around where to direct it. There’s something enticing about a monomaniacal pursuit of success. It’s an unhealthy way to live of course (see Captain Ahab), but there’s an intoxicating nature to imaging an unwavering, obsessive, unquestionable commitment to greatness in a particular field. In a way, this singularity of focus can seem like a relief, an uncomplicated blueprint to follow — one would not have to deal with the messy ambiguity of trying to find purpose in a vast and indifferent universe. But the problem with a myopic definition of success is that you can achieve it. And then what? It’s no wonder that ‘post-Olympic depression’ is such a real and painful phenomenon for many of our great athletes.

But most of us are not Michael Phelps. We get up, make coffee, scroll on our phones, skim our to-do lists, and scramble to make meaning of our days. Within this dance, I think we want to believe that tomorrow might be better — or at least that we’re on some trajectory of progress, both personally and societally. Attachment to this desire for betterment may be, as the Buddhist would claim, the root of all suffering. But it’s also very human to want to move towards the light. And I sense that belief in a brighter future is hard for many right now, for a variety of obvious reasons I don’t need to belabor here (one rhymes with dump). I’ve been thinking about what it would take to instill more slivers of hope for the future in our culture. Optimism is often annoying, because it can feel like you’re overlooking very real suffering or discounting genuine causes for despair. In what ways can we create a culture that is brave enough to suffer and brave enough to dream?

Paradox of abundance

Kyla Scanlon has been one of my preferred voices to turn to in making sense of this moment. She has a recent essay touching on this unique paradox of progress facing the younger generations: Gen Z and the End of Predictable Progress. The general idea is that there appears to be more abundant opportunities for extreme wealth creation than ever before (getting rich on crypto or becoming an influencer), but the reliable paths to modest prosperity feel like they are disappearing (education, stable employment, affordable housing). In a way, I think the this ending of “predictable progress” is causing the younger generation to feel like they’ve been lied to by the generation that raised them. There’s a part of me that wonders if this discrepancy of perception across generations is just a natural phenomenon. The world changes faster than our established belief systems. Revolting agains the traditions and norms of our parents is a teenage rite of passage. But the rate of change we’re currently experiencing feels different, things appear to being upended more severely, the fractures are more rampant and deep. And this cascades into the significant distrust of institutions we’re witnessing, leading to a divergence in understanding of our shared experiences. Regardless, people will still want to find a sense of belonging and (for better and worse) there are more than enough movements ready to take advantage of that instinct.

A menu of aliveness

I can be apprehensive of the ways in which the field of positive psychology can teeter into self-help — the offering of well-being systems and self-improvement advice ripe with platitudes. To be clear, I have many half read versions of these books sitting on my shelf, constant little shameful reminders over my lack of will to complete them. Maybe that’s why I prefer podcasts on this topic, less opportunities for taunting.

I recently listened to Corey Keyes on the Psychology Podcast (which I used to tune in to regularly, but it’s been some time). I enjoyed the conversation — it’s sort of a way to reframe some of that desire for ambition I touched on in this opening. Dr. Keyes states “we were planted here to grow, just like everything else. And when we’re not growing and exploring we feel like we’re dying.” I instinctually want to push back on any notion of constant self-improvement, but I’m not sure that’s what he’s saying here. Languishing, that term that became viral during the pandemic, is its own nightmare, of which I’m too familiar. We want to care about things, we want to apply ourselves, we want to feel like our actions matter, even if this is through some harmless self-delusion. Dr. Keyes ends up offering five vitamins (if you’re a bit yuck about this word, he was too until his publisher convinced him) that can help us move towards aliveness (similar to that feeling of “resonance” I touched on previously). The expectation was not that we must do all of these, or even aim to make every day great. Some are good, some are tough, but these gentle reminders can maybe help us create more of the good ones. Did today include:

• Helping others

• Learning something new

• Transcendence or spiritual practice (this could be prayer, meditation, or just enjoying beauty of surroundings)

• Playing (nothing kills play more than thinking it’s a waste of time)

• Socializing with quality relationships

Rain Dogs

This is a hard pivot from positive psychology. Often considered a “chronicler of the adrift and downtrodden”, Tom Waits is not necessarily associated with cheeriness. But I’ve felt plenty of joy over the humor of his lyrics and performances. I become somewhat obsessed with Tom Waits in my college years and throughout my early twenties. I don’t even remember how I came into contact with his music (it might have been discovering his song The Heart of Saturday Night in the movie The Perfect Storm, from which then led me to the wonderful horror of God’s Away on Business, where I thought maybe I clicked on the wrong artist…). But I quickly became entranced by the entirety of his artistry, an aesthetic I found enthralling but couldn’t quite put my finger on why. The stripped down instrumentation, the vaudeville and circus-freak absurdity, the wit that was somewhat heartfelt without seeming sentimental, the lyrics I never seemed to fully understand but always felt like they captured some deeper truth of existence. It’s been some time since I’ve listened to Waits. But I’ve been revisiting him recently out of a desire to play his music for Nina. Yes, this is forced and likely somewhat inappropriate for her age. But I listen to enough Row, Row, Row Your Boat to justify my own preference once in awhile.

I came across this beautiful post by Amanda Petrusich — one of my favorite critics who writes for the New Yorker (and who also happens to have a lovely Instagram presence) — describing the beauty of Rain Dog and Tom Waits in a way I’m not able to.

Whenever I am up to my eyebrows in feelings — the awkward & messy kind — there is a good chance I am also listening to “Rain Dogs,” an album that comes closer to expressing the absolute lunacy of existence than anything else I’ve ever heard. The thing that gets me about this music is not the rowdy weirdo carnie clamor — though that, of course, is very glorious 🚬 🥃🎪 — it’s how much & how deeply Tom Waits loves the world, despite seeing its ugliness, maybe while ONLY seeing its ugliness. “And you’re east of East Saint Louis and the wind is making speeches / And the rain sounds like a round of applause.” The idea is: all around us, extraordinary things are happening. This record is totally free of late-capitalist normie bullshit & instead seems to exist somewhere else — a better plane. I played “Downtown Train” a lot after Bret died, so much so that I used to croakily sing “Will I see you tonight / On a downtown train?” before I went to sleep, magical-thinking it might somehow goad him into briefly resurfacing in a dream. Yeah — oof. Lemme tell you, if you are enduring a grand heartbreak of any kind, this song is gonna be the best & worst thing to ever happen to you: “Oh, if I was the one you chose to be your only one / Baby, can’t you hear me now?” I’m mostly ambivalent about the poppy & pining Rod Stewart version — I miss G.E. Smith & Robert Quine’s guitar, and of course nobody understands how to voice desperation & hope — maybe the most obliterating combination of feelings??? — like Tom fuckin’ Waits. Shit happens, but you shouldn’t stop finding it all pretty beautiful & interesting — strange, disgusting, terrifying, ecstatic, joyful, transcendent, yes — because, well, it is! Harder to remember on the bad days, but forever easier with Tom Waits in yr ear. P.S. Absolutely blew my mind to learn that is not Waits on the cover, but a young guy who just kinda looks like him? A very Waits-ian bait and switch, frankly!!!

What a writer.

A parting quote from Laura Marling

I often meet people who are very much still at a place in life where they feel special, and if they're young enough, I’m happy for them. If they’re getting on a bit, it’s a tiny bit sad. It’s a rite of passage that we may all benefit from going through - an overcoming that universalizes us rather than making us that much more particular. It makes you more alive on earth and part of the world; I don’t think I could be a good mother if I clung to the need to feel special. Life got much better when I realised I wasn’t. It’s hard to explain until you experience it.

A closing song

The obvious choice would be to go out with a Tom Waits tune, but I had an unexpected, little moment of delight the other evening, driving to the market to get milk for Nina. The classical radio station was on and they introduced Schubert: Notturno in E-Flat Major for Piano Trio, D. 897 performed by Beaux Arts Trio. I know nothing about classical music despite my years of Suzuki violin. The opening to this piece is uniquely beautiful. I eventually had to get out of the car to grab the milk. But when I returned the song was still playing, and it continued as I drove through our neighborhood streets at night, something I don’t usually do given Nina’s sleep schedule — which made the familiar setting feel oddly surreal and peaceful. Right as I pulled up to our driveway, the song came to a restful end. It’s magical thinking to assume that the song was meant for that moment. But, as Amanda captured, there’s no harm in entertaining fantasy once and awhile.